


I still would be your shelter

by KaelsMiscellany



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ...kind of, Comfort, Gen, eichen house, more Pydia in intention than actual execution, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:03:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4161477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But he doesn’t need to speak for Lydia to hear him, she hears everything, whether she wants to or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I still would be your shelter

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo, last night I had a dream about Peter basically singing Lydia to sleep at some point in season 5, and then shared it with [Tumblr](http://whenwolfsbaneblooms.tumblr.com/post/121847288222/people-people-people).
> 
> This isn't exactly that idea...
> 
> Takes place some amorphous time before 05x01.

When he first sees Lydia marched down the halls of Eichen, clearly a patient and not a guest, he actually manages to muster up surprise through the haze of the cocktail of drugs they’re giving him. His eyes follow with enforced disinterest, just barely seeing as they shove her into a cell, a single; lucky girl.

That was a month ago.

In that whole time Peter hasn’t heard Lydia say a word, or even a make a sound; her heartbeat as regular as clockwork. It’s only vaguely worrying.

Despite their best efforts the good doctors of Eichen haven’t been able to dull his senses completely and he still manages to listen in to their conversations. They call it catatonia, and if Peter could laugh he would. She is responsive, after all, just not to them.

He’d never thought she’d be able to self-induce a fugue state, but once again she’s exceeded his expectations.

As midnight creeps closer he forces himself to stay awake, to fight the drugs and sit upright; so he can do what he’s done for the past thirty nights. A few days ago they changed his dosage, now he can’t speak anymore; ‘punishment’ for being mouthy.

But he doesn’t need to speak for Lydia to hear him, she hears everything, whether she wants to or not.

Even if he can’t speak he can still hum, providing a little accompaniment to his mental recitation; at least in his own mind his Gaelic’s perfect instead of the physical hit and miss it really is.

_“Is tabhair mo mhallacht dod' mháithrín is ní áirímse d'athair._

_Is a maireann de do chairde gach lá faid a mhaireann._

_Nár lig dom tú a phósadh is tú beo agam i do bheathaigh_

_Mar nach n-iarrfainn mar spré leat ach luí leat sa leabaigh._

 

_"Is tá brón ar mo chroíse atá líonta le grá dhuit._

_Is an londubh taobh thíos dó atá chomh dubh leis na háirne._

_Sara dtiocfaidh aon ní orm is go gcloífidh an bás mé_

_Ó béadsa i mo shí gaoithe romhat thíos ar na bántaibh.”_

His hand drifts lazily through the air as he translates for her, though he doesn’t doubt she understood him the first time.

_“The priests and the friars_

_They approach me in dread_

_Because I still love you_

_My love and you're dead_

_I still would be your shelter_

_Through rain and through storm_

_And with you in your cold grave_

_I cannot sleep warm._

 

_"So I am stretched on your grave_

_And will lie there forever_

_If your hands were in mine_

_I'd be sure they could not sever_

_My apple tree, my brightness_

_It's time we were together_

_For I smell of the earth_

_And am worn by the weather.”_

The drugs overcome him finally, but as he slips into his own fiery dreams he thinks he hears a soft sigh of contentment.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem/song used here is called "Tá me Sínte ar do Thuama/I am stretched on your grave" and you can listen to a very good rendition of it [here in Gaelic](https://youtu.be/qBzMFUo8JU0?t=13s) or [here in English](https://youtu.be/rfaaZvIZigQ).


End file.
